


Blood and Purpose

by Minoukatze



Category: Vermintide, Warhammer Fantasy
Genre: Backstory, Gen, Guilt, Lore - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:40:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23940967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minoukatze/pseuds/Minoukatze
Summary: A short drabble for a Reddit contest (unabridged here, edited below 1500 words there). Victor Saltzpyre encounters the Skaven menace for the first time.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 16





	Blood and Purpose

Victor slouched upon a roughly hewn rock, green torchlight flickering upon the countless crags of the cave. The light caught the now clouding eye of the girl sprawled limp upon the ground, her hand still outstretched toward him, her blood a black river trickling toward the darkness of the tunnel nearby. He could still somehow feel her tugging upon his coat. That unseeing eye pinned him where he sat, staring, judging…

_Was it worth it, Victor? Did it bring Skaggerdorf back? Have you restored your wounded pride?_

***

The attack had come in the middle of the night. Victor himself had been caught slumbering, having placed the usual guards against vampiric influence around his chamber and plans in place to end the undead menace the following morning. The stench had awoken him. Had he not stirred as soon as the smell of animal piss and musty fur had reached his nose, he would have been as doomed as the rest of the hapless town. He’d barely had time to reach his rapier before a flood of skittering rat…men… _things_ burst into his room. He’d been able to subdue them easily, but it wasn’t long before more scrabbled to his chamber. And more after that.

Victor knew undead. He had been prepared for them, and they were the entire reason he’d been summoned to this remote little hamlet. He knew the ways of Beastmen as well, and these creatures did not behave the way those braying forest defacers did. They arrived like a tide, burning and killing everything in sight, strategically striking the barracks, the guardshouse, and the stables first. The town had been caught completely and utterly by surprise and was quickly left defenseless. When Victor had finally stumbled out of the inn having left piles of rat corpses in his wake, the main street was a mess of smoke and screams. The villagers ran out into the night, only to be pounced upon like prey. Victor had taken down as many as he could, but to no avail. It had not been long before the screaming faded, the fires spread, and, suddenly, the rat men were gone as mysteriously as they’d arrived. They scrambled away into the shadows, leaving no trace save the horrid stench they trailed in their wake.

Victor had stood coughing in the middle of the street, stunned. In a matter of minutes, this bustling little town was in ruins. There was nothing that could have been done for it. And were those things actually… _Skaven_? _But Skaven were fiction, an old wives’ tale meant to frighten children!_ Apparently not. The Order would have to hear of this. It was revolutionary. Shaken out of his stupor, Victor had straightened up, strode back into the inn, dressed quickly and retrieved his pack, and exited just as the fires began to consume the place. These creatures had come from somewhere, and Victor would know the truth of it.

***

It had happened under his nose. Victor had conducted an impeccable investigation, and he’d been blindsided by this new enemy. There had been no clue, no warning, nothing.

He’d failed.

Victor raised his torch, stepping carefully upon the uneven ground of the dark tunnel, the light casting sinister shadows upon the muddy walls. He had no idea what he would find, nonetheless he charged forward. It was all he could do.

He’d _failed_. An entire town under his watch, gone. Victor’s face burned, his innards roiled. The memory of screams echoed in his ears, but worse, the memory of the sudden stop. Hundreds of people, suddenly gone, and he’d done nothing to prevent it. Rage and shame began to build with every step, filling Victor as he descended into this twisting abyss.

After a time, earth gave way to carved rock, and the tunnels grew in size. It took Victor a moment to realize that his torch was no longer the only illumination in the passage. The was a brief notion that his fury had grown incandescent, but Victor soon realized that the glow ahead was not his fevered imagination. Crude sconces lined the walls; a sickly, unnatural green fire rising to shimmer upon the damp walls. _Warpfire? How was this possible?_ Victor pressed onward, determined to puzzle out this infernal mystery.

The tunnel twisted, turned, widened into a rough-hewn chamber. Victor halted suddenly, sheathing his rapier and drawing one of the silver-tipped hawthorn stakes strapped to his chest. He’d brought them out of reflex, despite not thinking he would need them after the appearance of the new enemy. Sigmar must have guided his hands, though, as the unmistakable stench of the grave wafted around him. _So there truly was a vampire_ , he mused absently. It must not have been a vampire of any standing or account, though, considering the shabbiness of its chamber. Rubbish collected in the corners of the room, and its tomb was little more than a wooden crate. Victor smiled, viciously pleased to find an outlet for his rage.

Perhaps it was again the hand of Sigmar, perhaps it was pure dumb luck, but the creature slumbered still. Its red eyes snapped open as Victor flung open the lid of the makeshift coffin. The vampire must have been fairly young, uncautious and overly prideful. It blinked, disoriented at being caught off-guard. The stake fell, plunged, and the undead wretch shrieked out its death throes as its bleached, waxy flesh sank in upon itself. Victor drew back, panting, unsatisfied with this pitiful kill. He’d ached for more of a fight, a proper outlet for his self-loathing.

There was a rustling from one of the corners. Victor grinned savagely, producing another stake and ready to leap into action. _Come, demon_ , he mentally hissed. _Let me bring you oblivion_.

“Oh thank SIgmar!” A gasp arose from one of the piles of garbage, and out tumbled a bedraggled young woman. “Help me! Help me, please!”

Victor straightened; his vision nearly obscured by a red mist. Her. Here, scrabbling in the dust, was the doom of Skaggerdorf, the instrument of Victor’s disgrace. While he’d been wasting precious time attempting to locate the “poor, precious Annelise,” hapless but beloved daughter of the burgomeister, the . And here she was, much worse for wear but more or less matching the painted portrait the burgomeister had produced.

“Vampire’s thrall,” Victor sneered, and the girl immediately fell to her knees, her hands clasped in supplication.

“No, Sir, I swear!” She pleaded. “I never wanted to come here! Father blindfolded me and dropped me off in a cave.” The girl dissolved into tears. “I don’t know where I am. That…thing kept feeding on me, but I’m not turned, I swear! I tried to get away! I…I…” She paused to catch her breath. “Sir, I just want to go home.”

“There is no home,” Victor spat. “Skaggerdorf is gone, razed by ratmen. There…”

“What?” Annelise gasped. “But…but…that was the whole reason Father did this to me! He said Count Siegfried would protect the town if I did this! It was the only comfort I had…”

The red mist rose again behind Victor’s eyes. “So you knew…”

“That’s all Father told me! I didn’t want to! I didn’t want any of this!” The girl shook her head violently. “Sir, please! I…”

There was a tiny voice of warning echoing in the jumble of Victor’s thoughts. You will regret this. Step back, think. It was drowned out, though, by the roar of his rage and pain demanding blood. Here she was. A filthy vampire’s thrall, the linchpin upon all this chaos lay. Victor had been summoned as a ruse, a distraction, a stooge. He could see the bitemarks upon Annelise’s throat. _A true SIgmarite would have fought the foul creature_. Clearly she had been in league with the abhorrent undead. There was no other solution.

“Annelise von Bentheim, in the name of the Empire, Karl Franz, and Sigmar Heldenhammer,” Victor pronounced, stepping forward. “I judge you guilty of treason and heresy. I…”

“No, no, no!” Annalise grasped Victor’s coat. “I swear, I’m innocent! I beg of you, show mercy!”

It was the last word that spurred Victor into action. _Mercy? Where was the mercy in Skaggerdorf?_ His hands moved before his mind could catch up. There was a blur of movement, a glint of green upon the silver tip of the stake, a spout of blood. Annelise did not fight Victor, nor did she scream. She clung to his lapels until her strength failed. Her eyes held his the entire time, even as she slipped to the cold, rocky ground.

“Sigmar save me,” Annelise rasped weakly, then the light faded from her eyes.

Victor was alone in the room once more.

***

It should not have weighed upon Victor as it did. He’d seen his superiors do far worse. He’d once watched wordlessly as Captain Reinhardt strapped a squirming toddler to a pyre.

_And you vowed to yourself there and then that you’d never commit such acts, didn’t you?_

Victor grimaced. The girl had been compromised, that much was clear. He’d had every reason to execute her, and any other hunter would have done so without hesitation. They doubtless wouldn’t have waited as long, brooking no argument as he had. Guilt is a useless sensation when you are the hammer of the Empire, and it was foolish for him to dwell upon this necessary act. Victor had killed countless times before with nary a shrug of self-doubt. Not only that, he took great pleasure in doing so. _Why was this different?_

_Because, deep down, you knew she was telling the truth. Because you did not kill out of righteousness but from your own pathetic shame. Because you found the last living soul in Skaggerdorf, and you snuffed her out like a candle._

Victor rose, numb. He could no longer stay in this lonely chamber with the dead girl and her accusing eyes. There was a tunnel on the far side of the room, and Victor had a choice: leave and report to his superiors, or venture further into the bowels of the cave.

_Because you failed, on every level._

Victor trudged through the passage. He had no idea how far he traveled, perhaps minutes, perhaps hours. It didn’t matter. It wasn’t until a stray ratman scrambled in his path that Victor felt any sense of purpose.

His rapier slick with blood, Victor’s steps quickened. He could hear a cacophony up ahead, and he quickened further. The passage opened into a massive underground cavern populated with Skaven beyond number. At the center rose a pillar of stone, and upon it a strange white-furred horned rat shrieked to its minions.

This was it, his judgment, his trial by fire, his purpose. There was little chance Victor would leave this chamber intact, but if he did, it would be because his god deemed him worth preserving. Victor smiled.

“Thank you, Sigmar.”

With a righteous howl, Victor charged into the chamber..


End file.
